Chapter 20 — Undercurrents of Curiosity

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Chapter 20
Undercurrents of Curiosity

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♣

Sandstorm walked with her head down, her muscles tense beneath her fur. Each step seemed to echo in her mind like a reverberation of everything she had said that morning.

Maybe I went too far… she thought, not wanting to fully admit it. She forced herself to snort as if to convince herself she wasn’t wrong. But that cat… she doesn’t belong here.

Yet, the discomfort still nestled in her chest like a thorn. Maybe not because of Mistyfoot herself. Maybe it was the way Bluestar protected her. Or how Fireheart seemed to have eyes for no one else lately except her or the leader.

Her paws had moved on their own. And when she looked up, she recognized with a hint of annoyance the same clearing where she had started. She had circled the entire camp without realizing it.

She sighed and sat in the flattened grass, shaking her tail impatiently. The cool air cleared her anger a bit, though not entirely. The forest was quiet, the birds chirped, and a soft murmur from the nearby stream filled her ears with something other than her own thoughts.

It was then that she noticed a movement at the edge of the water.

Brackenfur, with his body leaning and claws extended, was on a flat rock. He was still. Too still. As if he were part of the surroundings. Only his tail moved, slowly, as if marking the rhythm of his breath.

Sandstorm frowned and walked toward him.

“What are you doing?”

Brackenfur turned slightly, without losing his posture. His tone was calm, as if he didn’t feel out of place at all.

“I’m trying to fish.”

“Fish?”

“I heard Mistyfoot had tried it,” he said, unfazed. “And I wondered how difficult it would be. Supposedly, it’s something natural for those from RiverClan. I found it interesting.”

Sandstorm narrowed her eyes, taking a few more steps closer.

“And why so much interest?” she asked, with a sharper tone than she intended. “Since when do you care about what cats from other clans do?”

Brackenfur raised his ears, finally turning fully toward her.

“It’s not that. It’s just that Mistyfoot seems skillful. I’ve heard about it in several gatherings,” he shrugged, nodding toward the stream. “I wanted to try it myself. Look.”

And he turned back, letting his front paws extend again toward the current. His shadow trembled on the water like a distorted reflection. Sandstorm looked at him in disbelief.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he replied. “But it’s a good concentration exercise.”

“Did she tell you that?”

Brackenfur turned, now genuinely surprised by her tone. He tilted his head, looking at her closely.

“No,” he said calmly. “Mistyfoot didn’t tell me anything. I just saw her a couple of times trying to fish at the edges of the camp. I thought if she could do it, so could I.”

Sandstorm huffed. She turned her head away. She didn’t want to look at him directly. She didn’t want him to see what she felt. Or suspect it.

Brackenfur, however, remained patient. He lowered his paws, sat beside the rock, and watched her.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” she replied too quickly.

The silence that followed was thick.

Sandstorm lowered her ears. The cool air no longer seemed so calming. The words crowded in her throat but wouldn’t come out. Finally, she just let out a low growl and fixed her gaze on the water.

Brackenfur broke the silence with a soft purr.

“Listen. I know you don’t like her being here.”

“What?”

“Mistyfoot. And from the way you talk, you don’t like me talking about her either.”

Sandstorm glared at him.

“That’s not it!”

“Then what is it?”

The question hung in the air.

Sandstorm didn’t answer. Because she didn’t know. Or didn’t want to know. She just felt that uncomfortable heat inside her. A mix of frustration, jealousy, and anger. Not because Mistyfoot was doing anything wrong. But because everyone seemed so comfortable with her. Fireheart. Bluestar. And now, Brackenfur.

“It’s nothing,” she said finally.

Brackenfur looked at her a moment longer. Then he nodded.

“Okay. But if you ever want to try it,” he said, pointing to the stream. “It’s harder than it looks.”

Sandstorm looked at him, narrowing her eyes.

“Are you trying to get me to fish?”

“Maybe.”

A part of her wanted to huff again. But another… just let out a small snort through her nose. She shook her head, resigned.

“You’re weird.”

Brackenfur smiled.

“And you’re tense.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure,” he replied, turning back to the stream. “Then you won’t mind if I keep fishing.”

Sandstorm growled. The sound escaped her throat like an irritable exhalation, laden with what she couldn’t put into words.

Brackenfur, still focused on the stream, seemed oblivious to everything. Calm. Patient. As if the world wasn’t burning around him.

That irritated her more.

“Why are you so calm?” she blurted out suddenly.

Brackenfur raised an eyebrow without turning fully. His front paws remained suspended over the water, trembling slightly with the current.

“Pardon?”

“I mean,” she growled, “how do you manage to be like that? So… relaxed. As if everything were fine. Doesn’t anything bother you?”

Brackenfur tilted his head. He seemed to consider it sincerely, as if he were genuinely trying to answer her.

“It’s not that nothing bothers me,” he said finally. “It’s just… I try to focus on what I can do. Not on what I can’t change.”

Sandstorm huffed strongly, turning her gaze back to the water. She saw her own distorted reflection, with narrowed eyes and bristled fur.

Sure, you don’t have to see how your leader loses direction, how your deputy drifts away, how an outsider takes up more and more space in your Clan…

And while her frustration simmered in her chest, Brackenfur tried again to catch something in the water. He extended a claw, stayed still… and failed. Again.

Sandstorm rolled her eyes.

“You’re doing everything wrong.”

“Oh, am I?” Brackenfur shot her a sidelong glance, amused.

“If you know so much, why don’t you try it yourself?”

“I will,” she said, raising her chin.

Without further thought, she positioned herself at the edge of the stream and plunged her front paws into the cold water. A shiver ran up her paws, but she said nothing.

Brackenfur moved aside slightly to give her space. He watched with interest as Sandstorm settled in. She frowned, concentrated, her eyes fixed on the trembling surface.

For a few seconds, the world seemed to hold its breath. The sun shone through the branches. The water flowed calmly.

And then Sandstorm plunged both paws.

A big splash.

Nothing.

The fish scattered, and she ended up soaked up to her elbows, growling in anger.

Brackenfur tried not to laugh, but his tail vibrated with the effort.

“What?” she huffed.

“Nothing, nothing… just that… you could use a couple of tips.”

“I can do it alone.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he replied, raising his paws. “But even the best warriors accept help. Look…”

He positioned himself beside her again, without invading her space, and lifted one of his paws, mimicking the correct gesture. The reflection of the sun on his claw looked like a sharp blade.

“You have to keep the shadow out of the water. That’s first. Then, follow the fish’s movement. Don’t rush. Wait until it passes just below, and then… fast, but gentle.”

“Fast but gentle? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Of course it does,” he purred. “Try it.”

She narrowed her eyes. Her pride wanted her to ignore him, to say something sarcastic. But her instinct forced her to look more carefully. To observe how his movements became more precise.

She tried again.

Stillness. Tension.

A silver flash passed beneath her paws.

And then… strike.

The water splashed and a small fish flew through the air, landing with a wet thud a few steps away. It writhed on the ground, shining with desperation.

Sandstorm blinked. She opened her muzzle.

Brackenfur applauded with his tail against the ground.

“You see! I told you!”

“It was luck,” she grumbled.

“It was technique,” he corrected, smiling. “And maybe a bit of natural talent.”

Sandstorm looked at the fish, then at her soaked paws. She felt the cold wind sticking to her skin beneath her fur. But she didn’t care.

Brackenfur approached the fish that Sandstorm had caught. He observed it for a moment, still writhing on the damp ground, shaking with clumsy spasms, as if refusing to accept its fate. The silver gleam of its scales flickered in the sun.

“Here you go,” he said, nudging it toward her with his nose.

Sandstorm took a step back.

“Kill it first,” she ordered, with a grimace of discomfort. “It’s still moving.”

Brackenfur looked at her as if she were joking.

“Kill it myself? It’s your fish.”

“You told me how to catch it,” she growled.

“And you caught it,” he corrected, with a sidelong smile.

The fish gave another leap, hitting the root of a nearby tree with a dull thud. Brackenfur looked at it for another second, then shrugged and left it on the ground.

“Well, then let it go back to the river,” he said, with feigned indifference.

“What?!” Sandstorm glared at him as the fish wriggled toward the water.

“It’s going to escape.”

“Then kill it!”

Brackenfur began to turn toward the water.

“I’m going to catch another one. Maybe a bigger one.”

Sandstorm growled loudly, more annoyed by the game than by the fish itself. With one precise swipe, she immobilized it and pushed it to the ground until it stopped moving. The animal’s tail gave a final flick.

“Done,” she huffed, shoving it aside. “Happy?”

Brackenfur turned his head and nodded with an expression of satisfaction so irritating that Sandstorm had to contain another growl.

“Very,” he said with a smile.

And without further ado, he plunged his paws into the water and partially submerged himself, moving with agility among the submerged stones. The cold didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest.

Sandstorm watched him from the shore, frowning.

“What are you doing now?”

“I’m going to catch another one,” he replied, without taking his eyes off the surface.

“A RiverClan patrol is going to catch you,” she warned, with a firm voice that didn’t entirely hide a hint of concern.

“Only if they see me,” he replied in a playful tone.

Sandstorm sat with her tail curled near her paws. That carefree, almost mischievous behavior wasn’t familiar in Brackenfur. He had always been the responsible one, the calm warrior who followed the rules.

And yet, there he was, half his body submerged in the river, his eyes focused and his posture relaxed, as if nothing could go wrong.

“This is crazy,” she said to herself.

Brackenfur cast a glance over his shoulder.

“What was that?”

“I said this is crazy!”

“That makes it more fun!”

The sound of his voice over the water made her blink. For a moment, she felt like an apprentice again. As if the Clan’s duties, the strict codes, the rumors, the looks… didn’t exist.

Just that moment. Just them.

Brackenfur wagged his tail under the water, causing a gentle whirlpool. His eyes were fixed on the surface. Silence. Tension. And then a failed swipe.

“Almost!” he growled.

“Almost? You’re soaked and haven’t caught anything.”

“That’s what the cat who couldn’t look at a fish without flinching says.”

“That was before!”

Brackenfur laughed as he shook his fur, sending cold droplets in all directions. Some reached Sandstorm, who let out a yelp and moved away, shaking her head.

“Brackenfur!”

“It was an accident!”

“Liar!”

She lunged at him with a playful push, making him stagger in the current. For a moment, they both laughed. It was a short, clean laugh. One that came from deep within the chest. Far from the tensions of the camp, the problems of loyalty, the murmurs that formed like dark clouds within ThunderClan.

When the laughter faded, only the sound of the river and the rapid heartbeats that still vibrated in Sandstorm’s chest remained.

Brackenfur looked at her for another second.

“You see? Not everything has to be complicated.”

Sandstorm looked away. The heat rose to her cheeks, and she hated it. Hated feeling that her emotions were so easy to read. Hated that he seemed to understand so much with so few words.

“Maybe…” she admitted softly. “But it can’t always be so easy either.”

Brackenfur sat beside her on the shore, his paws still wet.

“No,” he conceded. “But that’s why there are moments like this. To remind you that you can also laugh. That not everything has to hurt.”

Sandstorm looked at him sideways.

“You talk like a wise cat.”

“Only when I’m soaked and cold.”

Sandstorm couldn’t help but laugh again. Brief. But sincere.

And as they sat on the riverbank, without the pressure of outside gazes or the weight of the camp on their shoulders, Sandstorm began to wonder if, perhaps, she had been seeking comfort in the wrong places.

Brackenfur, with his simple words and constant calm, was like the river itself. Clear. Cold, but constant. Not tempestuous like other cats.

Sandstorm gave him a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow.

“For a warrior who wasn’t named one long ago… you seem to enjoy your life quite a bit.”

Brackenfur shook the water off a paw, purring softly.

“Do you mean my fishing?” he joked, but then, lowering his tone a bit. “I guess I have more free time than you think.”

Sandstorm narrowed her eyes.

“Free time?”

“Yes… sometimes I feel like the Clan doesn’t notice my presence much,” he confessed, half-serious, half-joking. “I slip through the edges, do my tasks, but no one really pays attention to what I do beyond that.”

Sandstorm frowned, somewhat surprised by the sudden sincerity.

“What do you mean?”

Brackenfur slowly turned his face toward her, with a playful purr vibrating in his throat.

“I mean… that I’ve heard many secrets of the Clan. Cats talk believing they’re alone. And I… just pass by there. Silent.”

Sandstorm raised her ears, now genuinely interested.

“Is that true?”

“You’d be surprised,” he nodded, with a calm smile.

Sandstorm’s amber eyes gleamed with curiosity. For a moment, she forgot the discomfort, the bad mood of the morning. She moved a little closer, without realizing it.

“And what do you know, then?” she asked in a low voice, almost a whisper.

Brackenfur fixed his gaze on hers. His whiskers moved slightly, as if evaluating whether to say it or not. And then he purred, very softly.

“I know that you like Fireheart.”

Sandstorm fell silent.

A blink.

Then another.

Her tail twitched with slight tension, and the heat rose to her neck as if boiling water had been thrown on her.

“What…? What are you talking about?” she huffed, but her voice trembled slightly.

Brackenfur didn’t look away. His smile remained calm, without mockery.

“I notice when you look at him. Or rather, when you pretend not to look at him. Or when you growl every time someone mentions his name. It’s quite obvious… if you know how to see.”

Sandstorm looked away instantly.

“You know nothing.”

“Maybe,” he said, without pressing her. “I’m just saying what I see. And what I hear.”

She took a deep breath. A part of her wanted to walk away. Another… stayed there.

“And what does that matter now?” she said finally, in a lower voice.

Brackenfur tilted his head.

“I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t matter. I just found it… curious.”

Sandstorm kept looking at the river. Her reflection moved distorted next to Brackenfur’s.

“Things change,” she said, almost to herself.

“They always do,” he replied. “Sometimes for the better. Sometimes… they just change.”

The wind blew through the branches, moving some dry leaves that fluttered near their paws. The river continued murmuring.

“And you?” Sandstorm asked, turning toward him. “Do you also listen to your own secrets?”

Brackenfur blinked, a little surprised. Then he smiled.

“Only mine. I keep them well.”

“Don’t you think about sharing them?”

Brackenfur shrugged.

“Maybe someday. I don’t share them with anyone.”

Sandstorm looked at him for another second. She wanted to ask what kind of secrets a cat like him could keep. But something in his expression, in his deliberate calm, made her think it would be better to wait. That if Brackenfur had something to say… he would say it in his own way, in his own time.

The ground beneath their paws was damp, but Sandstorm didn’t move. She lay on it with a muffled growl, the mud staining her fur with a coldness that didn’t bother her at that moment.

“I should find a sunny spot if I want to dry off,” she grumbled, without moving.

Brackenfur watched her in silence for a moment. The reflection of the sun on the water gave her fur a lighter hue, and her eyes shone with something more than simple amusement.

“Did you know Mistyfoot’s secret?” he asked suddenly.

Sandstorm narrowed her eyes.

“What secret?”

Brackenfur sat calmly a few steps away, without taking his eyes off her.

“There’s something not many in ThunderClan know. Something that even some in RiverClan might prefer not to remember. And that something… could cause quite a disaster if it spreads through the wrong mouths.”

Sandstorm raised her ears, now bristled with suspicion.

“I don’t understand your riddles. Speak clearly.”

Brackenfur purred softly, without the urgency of someone revealing something with the intention of alarm, but with the calmness of someone who has learned that knowledge is power… and that the moment to use that power must be chosen with precision.

“Let’s say that Mistyfoot… is not just an injured visitor.”

Sandstorm felt a tingle run down her spine.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing. Yet,” Brackenfur replied, standing up.

His tail moved lightly as he turned his head toward the path that looped back toward the trees. The same path the apprentices took when they went to train. The same one Fireheart often disappeared from the camp.

“Just think about how Bluestar has been acting lately,” he continued, already walking. “About how she protects Mistyfoot… and about how certain traits are not inherited by chance.”

Sandstorm followed him with her gaze. The cold in her belly from the ground disappeared under a new heat, denser: a mix of intrigue and distrust.

“Brackenfur,” she called.

He stopped, without looking at her yet.

“Yes?”

“Are you saying that Mistyfoot…?”

But Brackenfur was already walking away, with light steps and without hurry.

“Perhaps another time,” he murmured. “I have a lot to do.”

Sandstorm growled softly and stood up, shaking the mud off her paws. Something about the carefree way Brackenfur left things hanging irritated her. As if everything were a game. But her curiosity was already sparked.

“Hey! Wait!” she called.

Brackenfur finally stopped and waited for her, looking at her sideways. She ran the last few steps to reach him, her fur still damp from the stream water.

“You can’t throw something like that and leave me hanging,” she snapped.

“Of course I can,” he replied with a smile.

“Brackenfur!”

“But I won’t,” he added, lowering his tone a bit.

They walked together now, among the low undergrowth of the forest, where the sun filtered its light through the leaves as if it also wanted to listen to the conversation. The birds chirped above. The forest was at peace, oblivious to the tensions simmering beneath the cats’ thoughts.